


How Did We End Up Here?

by swanqueenfic13



Series: Aca-Song Fics [3]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: 5SOS - Freeform, AU, F/F, Morning After, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:09:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6592414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanqueenfic13/pseuds/swanqueenfic13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the anon who wanted a Bechloe fic to "End Up Here" by 5SOS. Hope you like it!</p><p> </p><p>Rated M for language and vague mentions of sexy times, and some innuendo. Sorry y'all, I suck at writing smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Did We End Up Here?

**Author's Note:**

> Might want to listen to "End Up Here" by 5SOS before, during, or after reading this!

_ Oh. My. God. _ The thought pops into my head as soon as my groggy brain can comprehend what happened last night. And early this morning. Many times. I roll over carefully, wondering if it had just been a very vivid dream. When my arm hits soft, naked flesh, I smile.  _ Hell yes, it was real. _ I roll back over, content to relive the entire night.

 

“Come on, Chlo,” Stacie begs. “Ever since you got an adult job, you’ve been totally lame.” Stacie was half a head taller than me, and using every inch of her gloriously toned body to heave me to my feet.

“I have  _ not _ !” I scoff, standing. “Teaching thirty rambunctious five year olds how to sing takes a lot out of me, and I get tired when I’m home. But that doesn’t mean I’m lame!” Stacie purses her lips, crossing her arms across her chest as she inspects my outfit. I take up a defensive stance, but start to feel foolish when I compare our outfits.

Stacie’s dark hair is straightened, her makeup flawless. She wears a short, tight black dress and thigh high boots that put her head well above mine. My hair is in a messy bun, and I washed my makeup off as soon as I got home. I was in an old, holey pink tanktop and paint-splattered sweatpants.

“What happened to the girl who used to drink a gallon of jiggle juice a night on weekends, then woke up the next morning to do her run? What happened to the girl who danced on tables, and took us all out for karaoke, or dancing, or to see a movie?” Stacie challenges. I wither.

“Oh my god, I’m  _ lame _ ,” I moan.

“We can fix that,” Stacie soothes, leading me to my bedroom down the hall. “Just come out to this new club tonight.”

 

That’s how I ended up at the club, yawning by eleven o’clock. Stacie was dancing with three different guys in the middle of the dance floor, and had ditched me. I was left to stand awkwardly by myself, trying to fend off unwanted advances from drunk guys old enough to be my father. I was just psyching myself up to go dance when I see the crowd part, people erupting in excited chatter. Even Stacie stops dancing to gawk at whoever walks by.

When she comes into view, I wonder why everyone was making such a fuss. Sure, she was attractive. Sexy as hell, actually. She’s short, maybe a few inches smaller than me. Her chestnut hair is pulled into a high bun with a few strands artfully falling into her face. It’s the perfect balance of neat and styled while maintaining the idea that she doesn’t care too much. She wears a shiny black tank top and skinny jeans, the darkness contrasting nicely against her pale skin, accentuating her cheekbones.

So yeah, she’s pretty. But so are a ton of other girls in this club. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself through the crowd, smirking. When she’s at the end of the bar, just a few feet away from me, I can hear someone come over and start flirting with her. It was one of the same guys who had been propositioning me.

“Hey baby,” he leers, leaning over her. She shoots him a look, gesturing to the bartender. Clearly this girl is a regular because the bartender gives her a drink without her saying a word. Maybe that’s why everyone seemed to watch her. “What’s your name?” I frown a little bit. He hadn’t even bothered to ask my name before he started giving me the bad pickup lines.

“Too much for you to handle,” she says simply, and he grins, leaning closer.

“Try me.” I find myself moving closer under the pretense of getting a new drink.

“Hi, I’m trouble,” the girl purrs lowly, barely audible over the beat of the music. He’s leaning on her, and she brings out her elbow sharply, the blow landing in his stomach. He’s still smiling when he walks away, and I move into the recently vacated space.

“Vodka tonic, please,” I tell the bartender. He nods, moving to make the drink.

“Nice shirt,” the girl beside me says. I turn to her, blushing. Stacie had insisted that I look “grunge chic” for this club, so I had put a black leather jacket on over a Nirvana t-shirt. I had paired it with a pleated black skirt and boots. I felt underdressed next to Stacie, but she insisted this would be the perfect outfit for this place.

“Uh, thanks,” I smile nervously. She smirks at me, one corner of her mouth turning up. 

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Cobain kind of girl,” she continues. I turn to her, confused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pout.

“You look more like a… Taylor Swift kind of girl. Maybe Dixie Chicks? Not Nirvana,” she explains, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I’m a girl with many surprises up her sleeve,” I whisper, trailing a finger up her forearm. She grins at her, leaning closer. “So, if I ask your name, will you tell me I can’t handle it?”

“Beca,” she whispers, and I can feel her breath on my ear.

 

The next hour was a blur. We talked, we danced, and we drank. I’m not even sure how, but next thing I knew, we were walking down the street to her place. She was gesticulating wildly as she talked about something- I wasn’t quite sure what. Suddenly, she stops talking.

“We gotta hold on to what we got,” she starts to sing, not too loud.

“It’s doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not,” I sing back, certain the alcohol is doing all the talking- er, singing- at this point.

“We’ve got each other and that’s alright… Something something,” Beca mumbles, her brow furrowing.

“O-oh, we’re halfway there,” I remind her. She joins in for the chorus and suddenly we’re belting it out together. “Who-oa, living on a prayer! Take my hand, and we’ll make it I swear. O-oh, living on a prayer!” She grabs my hand as we sing, and we erupt in giggles.

“I love that song,” she sighs. “I’m making a mix with it, so it’s been stuck in my head forever.”

“You mix?” I ask curiously. She nods, gulping. She stops suddenly, pointing to a fancy building. 

“This is me,” she mumbles, cupping the back of her neck awkwardly. I just grin, leaning in to kiss her. She tastes like rum and coke, maybe a little bit of scotch.I hadn’t paid much attention to her drinks, and I’m not normally one for those. But it tastes nice on her lips. I let her lead me up to the apartment.

 

So now, here I am the next morning, laying in bed, unsure of how the hell I’d gotten so lucky. Beca was fantastic. Beautiful, sweet, funny, and great in bed. I rolled over to grab my phone from my pile of clothes, haphazardly strewn across the room in our haste last night. My phone screen is cluttered with texts, most from Stacie.

**_OMG. Go Chlo! Saw u leave! Get some, girl_ **

**_Who’d u leave wit?_ **

**_OMG OMG OMG_ **

**_YOU LEFT WITH BECA MITCHELL_ **

**_I JUST SAW YOU IN AN ONLINE NEWS STORY_ **

**_YOU’RE THE MYSTERY GIRL_ **

**_CHLOE THIS IS IMPORTANT_ **

**_BECA EFFIN MITCHELL_ **

**_NEW SUPERSTAR DJ_ **

**_LOCK THAT SHIT DOWN BEALE_ **

**_DETAILS!!!!_ **

**_Call me when you wake up, kay babe?_ **

I smile through a groan as the brightness on the phone screen is too much for me. It’s been far too long since I’ve partied like last night, and clearly I’ve lost my tolerance. My head is pounding, my mouth has a layer of fuzz on it, and every muscle is aching. Though that’s probably from my night with Beca as opposed to the alcohol.

Speaking of Beca, I glance over at her before rolling out of bed, careful not to wake her. When I make my way to her hallway, I start to dial Stacie’s number.

“Who the hell calls this early,” she grumbles. I smile, hearing the hangover in her voice.

“You told me to call.” My own voice is hoarse, and groggy.

“I did,” Stacie says, perking up immediately. “You left with Beca Mitchell.”

“Beca who?” I ask. “Am I supposed to know her?” Stacie groans comically.

“Branch out beyond kindergarten, Chlo! She’s a music producer and a DJ. She played Coachella, and her last three singles have debuted in the top ten on the charts! She’s a superstar, and a badass, and you went home with her,” Stacie lectures.

“She was nice, and really funny,” I defend. “I didn’t know she was famous. This isn’t like, just another hookup. I really like her, Stacie. Like, a lot. A  _ lot _ a lot.”

“I’m not… Beca Mitchell is a notorious love ‘em and leave ‘em type. According to the tabloids, she’s got a long string of one night stands that end in disaster and heartbreak for the other person.”

“Shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids,” Beca rumbles from the doorway. Chloe whips around.

“Stace, I think she heard you,” Chloe whispers, eyes wide.

“Hello, Chloe’s friend,” Beca calls a little bit louder.

“Shit,” Stacie whispers. “Hi Beca Mitchell! Chloe, remember what I said!” She yells, loud enough for Beca to hear her. She smirks as Chloe hurriedly hangs up.

“Um, sorry about my friend. She’s… I didn’t… I didn’t know you were famous, and I feel kind of stupid for not knowing,” Chloe rambles. Beca just smiles, leading Chloe into the kitchen.

“Coffee?” she asks. Chloe nods. 

“And, like, advil or something if you have it.” Beca smiles at her, gesturing to the cabinet.

“So, you know, I kind of figured you didn’t know who I was when you actually asked for my name,” Beca starts after a few minutes of silence.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone calls me DJ Trouble. My friend Jesse started the name after the first tabloid article about me dumping a girl after one night. So when I go to the clubs, people as my name, and I saw I’m trouble. It just makes people laugh, I guess. It’s kinda dumb.” Beca ducks her head as she gives Chloe a mug.

“But you told me your name was Beca,” Chloe said softly, confused. 

“I did.” Beca nods, cupping the back of her neck. “Do you like Belgian waffles? I got this waffle maker on a whim a few weeks ago, and I’ve needed an excuse to try it out.”

“Sure,” Chloe nods. She watches, grinning, as Beca sticks her tongue out, reading the directions. “Do you know how to make waffles?”

“I can make pancakes, and it’s basically the same thing. Just look up a recipe on your phone,” Beca scoffs, waving a dismissive hand.

“So,” Chloe drawls while she pulls up a simple recipe. “Do you make breakfast for all of your one night stands?”

“I don’t have as many as the tabloids claim,” Beca sighs. Chloe feels guilty.

“Sorry. I was just trying to make a dumb joke,” CHloe apologizes, going through the cupboards to find ingredients for waffles.

“It’s fine. But, in answer to your question, no. I haven’t made breakfast for anyone besides me in  _ quite _ a while. But I don’t know, Chloe… Something about you,” she winks. “Makes a girl wanna settle down.”

“Stop,” Chloe whimpers. Beca stills, turning around with wide eyes. “I can’t… Are you going to leave me high and dry after this? I need to know before I get attached.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Chloe, I have  _ never _ felt like that with someone before. Not before sex. Not after sex. Sure as hell not during sex. It was amazing, and I want to see more of you,” Beca promises, putting a hand on either of her shoulders. She leans in, kissing Chloe softly. “I’m here to stay. If you’ll have me,” she adds quickly. Chloe grins.

“So, you, the famous producer, DJ superstar who’s played at Coachella, and everyone wants to get to know… You want to be with me? The kindergarten music teacher? Beca, you’re like, a ten. An eleven, even. You’re hot, sexy, funny, nice, and talented. You’re successful. You’re so far out of my league. I’m like, a six. Maybe. I teach kindergarten, and I live with a roommate because I’m too broke to live on my own. I haven’t gone out to a party in ages. It took me six years to graduate college because I had no idea what I wanted to do. You could get someone so much better than me.” Chloe feels vulnerable, weak. Beca just growls lowly, pushing Chloe back against the kitchen table.

“Don’t say that. Have you looked in a mirror, Chloe? You’re fucking sexy. When you say my name, I feel like I’ve been given a gift. And when you moaned my name last night? Fuck, I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. I don’t care about how long it took you to do college. I admire that you did it at all, because I didn’t. And as for living with a roommate? I had to live in a crappy apartment in the slums for three years while I was interning, playing open mic nights, and early morning radio stations. Don’t you ever say you’re only a six, Chloe. On a scale of one to ten, you break the scale.” And with this declaration, Beca picks Chloe up, sitting her on the table while attaching her mouth to Chloe’s. 

In the midst of her moans, and Beca’s ministrations, Chloe has the presence of mind to thank whatever and whoever helped her end up here.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for a good song prompt :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading, lovelies. If you can, leave a quick comment on what you liked, or disliked!


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